Hot Cocoa and Comfort
by ValSilph
Summary: “I’m not a little girl anymore,” she said, not really sure what she was referring to. Dustfinger paused. “Don’t worry, I know,”


**I saw Inkheart today, and was inspired to do a Dustfinger/Meggie fic. I know it's not completely in line with the book or movie---for example, I chose to let Capricorn live. Also, I wasn't sure if Gwin was a female or male, so I made her a female for my story.**

**Enjoy! Reviews are love.**

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_Scriiiiitch...._

_Meggie turned to the window, eyes wide. Only a glass pane away from her was the face of the man she had tried the hardest to forget. His long fingernail was what was making the noise; he was carving something into the glass, the words backwords so she could read them. _

_Two words:_

_You die._

_She felt paralyzed—she was sure she couldn't move. She didn't trust her voice. Her feet felt frozen to the floor._

_Slowly, he slid the window up. Reached in, toward her. One more inch…and the tips of his bony fingers would be against her throat._

And the dream ended. Right there, as it always did. Out of habit, Meggie looked to the window, just in case. Even though it had been five years since she had last seen Capricorn, she could still remember every single detail of his horrid, pallid, face.

The only noise against the window now was the scratching of a branch. It was storming out, too, and the rain lashed unforgiving against the pane.

Slipping out of the bed, she stuffed her feet into her sheepskin slippers before they could touch the cold floor. The days had been warm, but now the October weather was setting in, and she took a soft grey sweater to wrap up in as well.

The door creaked a little as she opened it on her way downstairs, and she had to step carefully on the staircase. By now, she had done this so many times that she was familiar with the one squeaky stair, and avoided it.

The kitchen was dark, but the remains of a fire still lingered in the fireplace, and it was enough light to see by. Anyway, she was as familiar with the contents of the cupboards and the location of the instant coco mix as she was with her room, and the staircase. She carried the steaming mug into the living room.

At her and Mo's insistence, Elinor had granted them the use of a small room off the kitchen to turn into a proper living room. The rest of the house was still very stately and elegant, just the way Elinor liked it, but in this room they had permission to be as untidy and comfortable as they chose. There were, of course, several large bookcases…but even so books still managed to accumulate in piles beside the chairs.

Meggie set the mug down beside her favourite seat, a large over-stuffed couch that Mo had brought back from an estate sale. There were a few moth holes in it, but Elinor had provided an ornate woven blanket that covered them beautifully.

She was sipping the cocoa, and wishing that the room could be a bit warmer, when she heard a step outside the door. Dustfinger was silhouetted in the shadow.

He strode in and while he brought the deadened fire back to life, Gwin scampered up the couch to sit on Meggie's shoulder. She smiled a little then, and let Gwin have a sip of her hot chocolate.

"Bad dreams?" Dustfinger asked. The fire was dancing beautifully and already Meggie could feel the warmth through her sweater, slippers, and cashmere blanket.

"Capricorn." She said, looking over at the wet, dark, window pane and shuddering.

"Ah. I see." Was all he said.

He sat down beside her, and stretched his legs out on a nearby stool. A book slid off the top but he didn't notice.

"I used to have dreams too," he muttered, half under his breath. "Dreams where I died, helpless, trapped in the story someone else had written for me."

He stared for a long minute into the flames, then blinked, and shook himself, and seemed to remember Meggie curled up beside him.

"But what of your dreams, princess?"

She scooted further down on the couch, getting comfortable.

"I keep imaging him coming back…for me," she whispered. "I know it's silly, he must be gone, but we don't really know…" she trailed off into an uncomfortable silence.

There was a long pause, then: "You're right."

Startled, Meggie turned to look at him.

"We don't know what happened to him. Or whether or not he's still alive."

She felt the remembrance of the dream coming back. "You don't really think he'd come…back, do you?"

When he didn't say anything, she hurried on. "I mean, what could he want with us? We don't have the book, nobody does. There's nothing here for him. Right?"

"You don't know Capricorn," he quietly. "You aren't twelve years old anymore, Meggie. He's good at waiting." And he looked at her pointedly. The realization of his words came to her slowly, and her eyes widened. "No…you don't…but…" once again, trailing off into an ominous silence. Her mug sat in her hand, she had forgotten it, and when she tasted it she found it had cooled. Cold cocoa made her feel ill, but apparently Gwin didn't think so, for when she put it aside the marten lapped it up.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep very well after this," she said. "What if…"

Dustfinger lifted his arm and gently tugged her head down against his shoulder.

"If you have any more nightmares, love, you can come up to the attic. Gwin and I will keep you company."

Maggie let herself shift to lean back against him, his arm heavy and comfortable around her. She felt her eyelids start to close, but managed to say "I'm not a little girl anymore," not really sure what she was referring to.

"Don't worry, I know," he said. The last thing she remembered was a light touch on the top of her head, and then a blissfully dreamless sleep claimed her.

Mo was always the first of the household to get up, even before Elinor, who was always an early riser. There was usually a pile of books waiting to be rebound, or repaired, and he needed the head start, without any distractions. He was in the kitchen, making a cup of coffee, when he noticed Dustfinger's marten, Gwin. She was sitting in the doorway of the living room, making her incessant chattering sound.

Throwing a bit of bread on the floor, Mo turned back to the coffee maker, however the marten would not hush.

"What's the matter with you…where's Dustfinger when you need him," he muttered, striding across to the doorway to scare the creature off.

When he stepped into the living room, Gwin ran, squeaking, across the rug. And then Mo stopped, staring at the couch.

Dustfinger and Meggie were asleep on it, curled up together with the early morning light darting across their faces. Dustfinger was snoring lightly, stretched out with Maggie tucked into his side. His arms were wrapped loosely around her, his head bowed against hers.

Mo wanted to go and wake them. The fact that his daughter was sleeping in the arms of a man years older then her was enough reason. But they looked peaceful, content, and as innocent as could be given the circumstances. He noticed a half finished mug of cocoa beside the couch. Ah, Meggie must have come down after a nightmare, he realized, remembering when she was younger, and would insist on a hot drink to chase away her bad dreams. In that case, he was grateful for the fire-eater's friendship with his daughter. He picked up the hot chocolate and went silently back to the kitchen. Everything was fine.

The sun was too bright when Meggie finally opened her eyes. She was confused, for the curtains in her room usually blocked out the light until she was properly awake and could open them. Then she remembered the night, her dream, and the reason she was still there. Dustfinger! She sat up abruptly, shrugging his arm off, squeezing her eyes to get the fuzziness out. How had she fallen asleep like that?

Gwin appeared out of nowhere and ran up her leg, chattering. She was patting her absentmindedly when she heard Dustfinger groan behind her.

"Will someone please make that confounded light go away," he growled, rubbing his eyes.

"It's almost eight o' clock," she said. "I didn't dream at all."

Dustfinger pulled his long legs off the stool and stood up, stretching. Then he looked down at Meggie, still seated on the couch.

"Aren't you coming? Your mother will have breakfast out, surely."

"Oh. Right." She snapped out of her daze, setting aside her blanket and getting up.

The distinct scent of pancakes lingered in the kitchen, and Resa was just finishing with the dishwasher. Meggie hesitated in the doorway. Dustfinger pressed his fingertips to the small of her back. She smiled, and went in.

All was as it should be.


End file.
